'Whoever comes to me I will never cast out'

A bruised reed he will not break;
​     a smoldering wick he will not extinguish.

From Richard Roberts:

I was reading this passage this week, and as if for the first time, saw in it the heart of Jesus as a restorer.  Well, more than that, as one who invests great effort and time and sacrifice in order to fix something that is usually disposable, and it opened up the eyes of my heart to the great affection and desire that Jesus has for the oppressed, the crushed, the flickering ones whose light struggles to shine and whose souls struggle to stand up straight. 

These metaphors, “the bruised reed” and the “the smoldering wick”, symbolize those souls who are not strong, who struggle, who labor and are weary under the striving, backs bent, sweat beading, tears flowing.  A reed, that hollow tube of grassy stalk, stands firm when unbruised, and was useful for many things in the ancient near-eastern household.  They were used as measuring rods, as flutes, as pens, as brooms, and other uses.  However, whatever their purpose, it was necessary that they be unbent and uncrushed.  The whole reed, firm and strong, was useful.  The bent reed, crushed or bruised, was not.  And reeds were cheap and plentiful.  They were, therefore, simply thrown out when became broken.  They grew by the millions near the rivers, so commonplace as to be insignificant. 

The same is true of wicks.  A wick that functioned well was useful, giving good light and very little smoke from an oil lamp.  But an inefficient wick, one that flickered and didn’t burn well, was a nuisance and an annoyance, adding acrid smoke to the house while giving little light for which it was purposed.  It was easier to snuff it out, remove it from the lamp, and throw it away.  Find a better wick.  A little piece of flax was not an undue burden financially, so the normal thing to do with an inefficient wick was to snuff it out and throw it out. 

It would take time, effort, expense, patience, and care to make anything useful out of these broken and useless things.  Most people would not do this, but the Servant of the Lord does.  The one who calls the weary and heavy-laden does.  He doesn’t throw anyone out who comes to Him.  That is the gentleness of Jesus.  He told his disciples in John 6, “whomever comes to me I will never cast out.”

This is great news for those who feel useless, broken, weak, and incompetent.  It is good news for those whose backs have been bowed by their own sin, or by others’ sins against them, the recognition of their own weakness or futility, who want their lights to shine brightly, but who, in their efforts and desires, see more of a flickering than a shine, more smoke than light. 

Maybe that is where you are today, seeing that you are not as strong as you though you were, or as you wish you were.  You are struggling to be whom the Lord is calling you to be, and who you want to be.  Take heart, O weary one!  See the Servant of the Lord!  He doesn’t cast out the broken or the flickering.  Rather, he invests the liquid gold of His very own blood in order to restore the common things, the disposable, the broken. 

The obsession that hot-rodders have to make the broken-down and rejected cars roar, and the financial investment and determined focus required by those who restore furniture or electronics, cannot compare to the passionate affection, persevering patience, loving dedication, and gentle tinkering hands of Jesus.  You rarely see people restoring disposable pens, but that is more like the metaphors of the restoration of Jesus.  It seems foolish, but love often invests more than what looks worth it, because it loves.  If one man's junk is another man's treasure, then "another man" is Jesus and the weary and broken who come to Him are His treasure.

John Bunyan’s wrote significantly on John 6:37, “Everyone whom the Father gives me will come to me, and the one who comes to me I will never send away.”  He wrote:

“For this word, ‘in no wise’ [intensive negative, i.e. ‘never’], cuts the throat of all objections; and it was dropped by the Lord Jesus for that very end; and to help the faith that is mixed with unbelief.  And it is, as it were, the sum of all promises; neither can any objection be made upon the unworthiness that you find in yourself, that this promise will not assoil.
                But I am a great sinner, say you.
                      ‘I will in no wise cast out,’ says Christ.
                But I am an old sinner, say you.
                      ‘I will in no wise cast out,’ says Christ.
                But I am a hard-hearted sinner, say you.
                      ‘I will in no wise cast out,’ says Christ.
                But I am a backsliding sinner, say you.
                      ‘I will in no wise cast out,’ says Christ.
                But I have served Satan all my days, say you.
                      ‘I will in no wise cast out,’ says Christ.
                But I have sinned against light, say you.
                      ‘I will in no wise cast out,’ says Christ.
                But I have sinned against mercy, say you.
                      ‘I will in no wise cast out,’ says Christ.
                But I have no good thing to bring with me, say you.
                      ‘I will in no wise cast out,’ says Christ."
 
Dane Ortlund, in his book, Gentle and Lowly, expresses our assumption that, giving enough time, Jesus will finally grow tired of our bruises, our flickering, our failures, and keep us at arms length and render us useless and worthless.  He writes another fictional conversation with Jesus to show us the heart of the Servant of the Lord towards us in the complete knowledge of our full depravity.
               
     “No, wait” – we say, cautiously approaching Jesus – “you don’t understand.  I’ve really messed up, in all kinds of ways.
           I know, he responds.
     “You know most of it, sure.  Certainly more than what others see.  But there’s perversity down inside me that is
      hidden from everyone.”
           I know it all.
      “Well – the thing is, it isn’t just my past.  It’s my present, too.”
           I understand.
      “But I don’t know if I can break free of this any time soon.”
           That’s the only kind of person I’m here to help.
      “The burden is heavy – and heavier all the time.”
           Then let me carry it.
      “It’s too much to bear.”
            Not for me.
      “You don’t get it!  My offenses aren’t directed toward others.  They’re against you.”
            Then I am the one most suited to forgive them.
       “But the more of the ugliness in me you discover, the sooner you’ll get fed up with me.”
            Whoever comes to me I will never cast out.